


Captivated

by diner_drama



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Charles You Slut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:22:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23105416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diner_drama/pseuds/diner_drama
Summary: Erik woke with a start and scrambled onto his knees as best he could from the bed of hay he'd been lying on, throwing the scratchy blanket off of his shoulders, wrists straining against the ropes that were binding them. The air was cold but his hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat."Good morning," said a rich and honey-sweet voice from behind him. Erik whipped around, and looked up to see an imposing, bearded man in a thick, woollen cardigan and heavy-duty leather gloves, regarding him with interest."Where am I?" snarled Erik, tensing his muscles in preparation for a fight.His captor spent a moment taking off his gloves before crossing his arms, his rolled sleeves revealing a pair of forearms thick with corded muscle, and flicking out his tongue to wet his red lower lip. "You're saying you don't remember?"
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 20
Kudos: 74





	Captivated

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this post by demonlady](https://hi-inevitable-im-dad.tumblr.com/post/190926106126/demonlady-erik-charles-%E0%B2%A0%E0%B2%A0-another-one).

Erik woke with a start and scrambled onto his knees as best he could from the bed of hay he'd been lying on, throwing the scratchy blanket off of his shoulders, wrists straining against the ropes that were binding them. The air was cold but his hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat.

"Good morning," said a rich and honey-sweet voice from behind him. Erik whipped around, and looked up to see an imposing, bearded man in a thick, woollen cardigan and heavy-duty leather gloves, regarding him with interest.

"Where am I?" snarled Erik, tensing his muscles in preparation for a fight.

His captor spent a moment taking off his gloves before crossing his arms, his rolled sleeves revealing a pair of forearms thick with corded muscle, and flicking out his tongue to wet his red lower lip. "You're saying you don't remember?"

Erik racked his mind. He'd been on the deck of Shaw's yacht, creeping around behind the engine room. He'd been so close, just about to strike, he could see the back of his target's head... then, nothing.

His eyes narrowed. "What did you do to me?"

"I saved your life. I found you floating in a lifeboat, frozen half to death."

Erik looked down at his bound wrists and raised an eyebrow. "Which part of saving my life necessitated the light bondage?"

"As I was wrapping you in blankets and feeding you hot tea, you kept waking up and punching me," he said flatly, turning around to fiddle with the dials on the bank of analogue devices on the wall. "It seemed counterproductive." 

"Well, I'm not punching you now," said Erik, holding out his wrists expectantly and eyeing the door.

"I noticed," murmured the other man. He turned to face Erik and leaned back against the console. "Before I untie you, I really need to know that you're not going to destroy any of this equipment. It's carefully calibrated and honestly rather more expensive than I can really afford to replace."

"As long as you don't try to keep me here against my will, I'll be out of your hair immediately," said Erik with forced casualness, inching closer to the exit.

"Ah, about that," said the man sheepishly. Erik didn't give him the chance to finish, darting past him and shouldering open the heavy wooden door. The cold of the wind hit him first, freezing the sweat on his brow and making his breath catch in his throat. Then his eyes adjusted to the blinding whiteness, and he stopped in his tracks as he took in the barren snowy landscape, an impassable wasteland stretching out as far as he could see.

"You're welcome to try," said an amused voice from behind him, "but you'd be best off waiting until my assistant comes back with the motorised sledge."

"Where the fuck are we?" growled Erik, wheeling around and stalking towards his captor, who remained irritatingly unintimidated.

"Svalbard."

"Gesundheit."

The handsome stranger suppressed a smirk. "It's a little way north from Norway, in the Arctic circle."

Erik's brow wrinkled in a frown. "Last I remember, I was off the coast of Greenland."

"We're not terribly far away, although I'm still amazed you survived."

"It's one of my skills," said Erik vaguely, casting around for something to use to cut open his bonds. There wasn't any metal nearby that he could sense - but that was insane, he thought wildly, there was visible metal everywhere, in every device.

"Oh, metal, interesting," said the stranger, leaning forwards raptly and chewing on his plush lower lip. "I was wondering what your mutation was."

"How the fuck-" snarled Erik, stalking forwards. The other man waved a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

"Can we please start at the beginning?" he sighed, sitting down heavily and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "We've gone about this all arse-backwards." He pinned Erik with his expressive blue eyes. "Hello, I'm Dr. Charles Xavier, I'm a telepath, and I think someone's been playing silly buggers in your mind."

Erik didn't respond other than to let out an audible growl.

"Look, I'm going to untie you, I'm going to find us both a stiff drink, and then we can spend some time trying to get your memories and your powers back, OK?" Erik just scowled. "Alternatively, if you're going to be uncooperative then I won't untie you and I won't share the whisky with you."

"How do I know I can trust you?" Erik gritted out from between clenched teeth.

"I'm like you, Erik. I'm a mutant. Trust that."

Closing his eyes, he took in a steadying breath and deliberately un-tensed his muscles. Eventually, against his best instincts, he nodded and held out his wrists. Charles made short work of the knots, then ran a soothing hand over the grooves in his skin for a second, before catching himself and snatching his hand back, turning a very fetching shade of pink in the process.

"Right, Scotch," he said quickly, clearing his throat. He disappeared around a corner and left Erik to look around his surroundings. The Arctic base was brutally primitive, rough-hewn stone and huge blocks of pre-cast concrete making up every surface, buzzing electric lights swinging overhead from grated walkways, banks of blinking machines and sparse metal furniture softened only by the thick furs draped haphazardly around the room. 

"What is this place?" he called. Charles' soft steps became louder and he reappeared around the corner, holding a stack of clothes and a bottle of amber liquid. He held out the clothes and Erik took them, pulling on a silk base layer over his naked chest and wrapping some furs around his shoulders.

"A research institute," said Charles, pouring generous portions of Scotch into two battered enamel mugs and passing one over.

"Researching what, exactly? Frostbite?"

"There's a way of enhancing the reach of my mutation, but the equipment requires intensive cooling, so when we got our funding cut by the government, we transported the whole setup out here to take advantage of the cold. That's how we found you."

"Find anyone else while you were looking?"

"Yes, there were some more mutants on some vessel not many miles from you. They weren't as high priority to investigate considering your distress, but it did seem unusual."

Erik took a long sip of his drink and contemplated Charles. "I suppose I should thank you."

Charles let out a bark of laughter. "That would be customary, yes."

"I'll think about it."

"Now," said Charles, putting down his cup. "Would you like me to have a poke around inside your head to see what we can do about getting your powers back?"

Setting his jaw, Erik downed the rest of his drink and nodded grimly. "Do you have a paperclip or something? I could do with something to concentrate on while this is happening."

"Excellent idea," said Charles, casting around the console for an appropriate object. "Here, some spare screws." Erik took them from him, their fingers brushing, and rolled the little metal fastenings around in his hand, wishing he could feel them properly.

After checking in with him a few more times, Charles rested two fingers on his own forehead and Erik experienced a curious sensation in his mind, thoughts being gently uncovered and brought to the surface. A tingling suffused the back of his neck and he sucked in a breath.

"Ah, I've found it," said Charles, his brow wrinkling in concentration. "Right, I'm going to bring your powers back bit-by-bit so you can keep them under control as they're returning."

At first, Erik felt nothing different. Then, gradually, the screws in his hand started to feel more tangible, more real. He could sense that they were made from steel, and after a little more probing from Charles, he could begin to lift and warp them, pulling out the metal into long strands, wrapping them around each other, reshaping them into cubes, spheres, and finally, a little polar bear. 

"Beautiful," breathed Charles, eyes darkening. "Your control is exquisite. What's the biggest thing you've ever moved?"

Erik smiled and placed the little sculpture into Charles' hand, closing his fist over it. "The gates of Auschwitz," he said softly. Charles' other hand found Erik's and gave it a squeeze, imparting an impression of respect and sympathy into his mind.

"How far can your telepathy reach?" asked Erik, clearing his throat.

"Theoretically, across the globe. In reality I can manage to cross a continent or so before I start getting nosebleeds."

"Can I see the machine?"

"Of course," said Charles, standing and motioning for Erik to follow him. 

He led them down a narrow metal ladder into a corridor in the basement, their clanging footsteps echoing behind them as they descended into the concrete bunker. "This Cerebro," he said, putting his thumb to the door's scanner. The door opened with a beep and they stepped through into the vast chamber. The door closed behind them with a hiss of pistons.

Charles strode up the metal walkway to the control console and picked up a helmet, settling it over his unruly curls and sticking the contacts to his forehead. 

"Cute," murmured Erik with a quirk of his eyebrow. Charles shot him an amused look and flipped a switch, making the machine hum to life. The air filled with susurrations as the interior walls of the sphere began to light up with figures, white and red people appearing in the air.

"The red people are mutants. I'm trying to hone in on the ones who were nearby when we found you, but I think they must have travelled some distance."

Transfixed, Erik had to keep himself from choking up. "I thought I was alone," he said quietly, emotion infusing every syllable.

"Far from it, my friend," said Charles with a breathless and wild grin, sweat beading on his brow from the effort of sustaining his telepathy. "Ah! There. There's a woman and two men, still in the yacht from before. There's someone else there as well, but I can't get a read on them at all. It's the strangest thing."

"Where are they?" asked Erik, leaning close over Charles' shoulder to peer at the apparitions.

"Nearly all the way to Denmark. They must be going at quite a clip."

"Is there an airport somewhere in this godforsaken tundra, or am I going to have to find a ship somewhere?"

"We have a jet, but the conditions are far too bad for takeoff for another while."

"That's not good enough," snarled Erik. "I need to find them before the trail goes cold."

"The trail can't go cold as long as we have Cerebro, Erik, and I'd really rather you not die in a snowstorm, you're far too attractive."

"I can't let them- what?"

"You heard me," said Charles matter-of-factly, pulling off the helmet and shaking out his hair. "Now, come back upstairs with me. I'm starving and we need to sit down and make a proper plan."

Erik considered his options for a moment before assenting, gesturing for Charles to lead the way. There seemed to be no viable options for getting to Shaw on his own, so despite his reservations, he didn't have a choice but to work with Charles, at least for the time being. And, he reflected as he watched Charles' muscular thighs working to climb the ladder ahead of him, there were some benefits to the arrangement.

Dinner, it transpired, mostly comprised corned beef from a tin and rehydrated dried mashed potatoes, cooked in a staggering amount of goose fat.

"Sorry," said Charles sheepishly as he poked at the makeshift hash in the frying pan. "You use up a lot of energy out here, so all of our food is quite, ah, calorie dense. We've got plenty of butter, as well, but then it wouldn't have been kosher, so..."

"I've eaten worse, believe me," chuckled Erik. "Besides, I assume the alternative is strips of raw seal carcass. I'll take my chances with the canned meat."

"Such bravery," said Charles drily. "The plates are above the sink, if you wouldn't mind, although I'm afraid we left the fine china back at home."

"Well this simply won't do," replied Erik, extricating two enamelled tin plates from the tiny cupboard. "I refuse to eat my rehydrated space food on anything less than Wedgwood." Placing the plates on the table alongside the cutlery, he crowded behind Charles at the stove, pressing his body against his back and hooking his chin over his shoulder. "May I have a taste?" he murmured into his ear.

Charles let out a long, shaky breath and arched back against him. He picked out a spoon from the drawer and took some food out of the pan, lifting it up to Erik's lips, watching carefully as he blew on it and then took a bite.

"It's certainly edible," said Erik charitably, licking his lips and enjoying the way Charles' breath hitched. "Do you have any oregano?"

"I think there's some dried mixed herbs in one of those tins."

"Close enough," said Erik, searching out the tin and giving it a tentative sniff before adding a large spoonful of herbs to the dish, and a sprinkle of extra salt for good measure.

"Mm," said Charles, tasting the updated mixture. "You know, that almost tastes like food." He turned around, looking up at Erik with his intense blue gaze, and backed him up into the opposite wall. "What do you taste like?" he murmured, pressing his body against Erik's and gripping his ribcage.

"Corned beef, I imagine," replied Erik, nonetheless cupping Charles' cheek with his hand and leaning downward to capture his red lips in a firm kiss.

When their lips parted, Charles looked him in the eyes for a long moment, and then laughed. "Yes, corned beef was the overriding flavour."

"I did warn you," said Erik, brushing a strand of Charles' hair behind his ear.

"You did," he agreed, turning away to scrape their meal onto the two plates. He motioned for Erik to sit down opposite, then took his hand.

"Now," he said, pinning Erik with a stare across the table. "Tell me about Sebastian Shaw." 

**Author's Note:**

> User BelgianReader2 pointed out to my idiot vegetarian ass that lard is made from pork, so where it previously said "lard" it now says "goose fat".


End file.
